


Heidegger: Life and Times

by FFlove190



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Canonical Character Death, War, origin fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2273382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FFlove190/pseuds/FFlove190
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heidegger was just another ShinRa soldier fighting on the Wutain front. But, somehow, he managed to become the most powerful man in the ShinRa military. (Heidegger origin fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heidegger: Life and Times

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Licoriceallsorts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Licoriceallsorts/gifts).



> Yay! Origin fic! To be honest, before I wrote this, I never gave much thought to the man other than some blanket stereotyping at his "gyahaha." I really appreciated this prompt to stretch my brain in a whole new direction. 
> 
> Almost the moment I started researching him - reading through Heidegger's script, and then his direct inspirations - I formed an idea of exactly _who_ he was very quickly, and how he ended up where he was in life. While some of the finer details morphed over the month I wrote this (not the epic war saga I wanted because Heidegger's whole life wasn't just the war, or the grand fic of ultimate bro-ness of all the bros, or the super gay romance I also desperately wanted to write but the lovely dovey didn't actually add that much to the story) the core concepts I wanted to convey stayed firm; I packages them as best as I could.  
>  However this fic did get... a little out of hand, I admit. But I'm proud of what I managed to accomplish. I managed to give a new face to an old villain. I know I'll never look at him quite the same again and hope you might get a fresh look at him too!
> 
> Please enjoy my take on Heidegger!!
> 
> Before you jump in, my beta(s) informed me of a poorly introduced term (which was entirely intentional on my part, but perhaps is unfair to the reader): Please note that **'ewt'** is ShinRa army slang for _'Wutai'/'Wutain'_. (my notes at the end of the chapter will go into further detail about naming conventions if you're interested)

**[1.]---**

“We will set up a secondary camp at Julu, using the model-08 tanks as primary defense. The ten battalions will fan out and provide support for the tank squads – no ewt within ten kilometers of these things, is that clear? After the tanks are set up, seventh will take point.”

 

Andreas rubbed at the bristles of his beard, trying to visualize the attack patterns from what he remembered of the maps. Julu... was a little hilly part of the canyon system the rest of the troops had fondly taken to calling the gulch. It was strange that, if he was hearing correctly, they were going to plant themselves at the base of a canyon. The ewts might not have the biggest walls, but he knew for a fact that they had used a boiling mako substance that melted skin off of bones last time someone tried to attack their settlement just north of Julu. Planting at the base of a canyon wall didn't seem like the brightest idea. Not to mention the Wutains were crafty with materia, even with the anti-magic shields on the tanks, the might still quake down a few boulders and the tanks would be out of commission.

 

Then again... it wasn't like an ewt could really climb that high, could they? Andreas hadn't heard any rumors or seen any evidence and ShinRa seemed to be the only people destroying the terrain in their strategies. So placing their backs to the canyon walls didn't seem that unreasonable.

 

“Now fifth company,” Commander Arnold swung his eyes toward them. Andreas stiffened under his gaze, puffing out his chest a bit. “You'll take the van. But don't take unnecessary risks. For now, get some rest and prepare to move out at dawn.” With a few more words about specifics, the commander turned and disappeared to attend to the rest of the camp.

 

For his part, the young soldier just remained standing as he was. Andreas felt that same wary nervousness every time they were given orders. At the same time, a warmth filled his chest because he knew, just knew, that they were blessed by a commander who would watch their backs.

 

Smiling, the young soldier fingered the bristles of his beard. It had been grown largely out of a lack of razor blades on site than any real desire for a beard proper, but he found he was rather enjoying the sensation of it. That and the looks he would get from his marching partner.

 

“You're look a little green there, Klaus. A little late in the game to be getting nervous, gyahahaha.”

 

“I just don't see how your beard makes you so happy,” he countered, still looking nervous despite the retort.

 

“Maybe you'd find out if you could grow one.” Andreas smirked, hoping the light conversation would relax his comrade.

 

“Something about this strategy is making me uneasy.” Klaus continued, ending their banter. “I think the commander is hiding something...”

 

“Arnold?” Heidegger snorted. “I would lay down my life for that man.”

 

Klaus gave him a skeptical look. “Andy... war is just a natural extension of politics. Everything about this strategy just screams political maneuvering, and we're out there on the van.”

 

“You worry too much,” Andreas clapped his comrade on the shoulder. Doing that always seemed to ease him out of his funk. “Everyone know that war is all about the passion and loyalty of men. Nothing can affect the outcome of a battle more than morale.”

 

Klaus continued to look disbelieving. Then again, Heidegger didn't expect much else, this was a debate they had time and time again in the few years they had been assigned the same squad.

 

“Sometimes all the passion in the world can't stop the hand of fate – or a carefully concocted plan, as it were...” Klaus said slowly.

 

“Gyahaha, you worry too much.”

 

“And you laugh too much,” Klaus said it with a resigned sigh. Dusk was nearing, and it gave his face a dark and shadowed look. “I'm just worried is all.”

 

“Well stop worrying! We never know what day will be our last so it's better to just let it go and laugh instead. Gyahahaha.”

 

“I think that beard has finally gone to your head.”

 

 

* * *

 

 **[2.]** \---

 

“Klaus...” Andreas fought the wave of dizziness as he shook his comrade. He tried to ignore the odor of burning flesh and the way the ash fell about them in a choking haze. “Wake up.”

 

“Ungh,” was the groaned response. His eyes opened blearily, before squinting. Andreas didn't know if he could see the devastation around them or not, and almost hoped he couldn't. “Andy?” At the sound of his voice, sleepy but coherent, Heidegger almost sagged in relief.

 

“Gave me a hell of a scare there.”

 

Klaus scrunched his nose. “You look like shit,” he slurred.

 

Andreas chuckled softly, ignoring the flares of pain in his ribs. “You do too.”  
  
If anything, Klaus was worse off. The stomach wound was the most worrisome part, everything else could be fine - comparatively. Andreas pulled out his meager first aid supplies – a simple pad of gauze and some alcohol, and set to wrapping his comrade's wound. He had no idea how long either of them had been unconscious, but he didn't want to stay for long on the battlefield.

 

The groans of the injured were getting fewer and farther in between, like they were getting quietly picked off – and the ewts were still out there.

 

“We need to get out of here,” Andreas huffed as he sat back and examined his handiwork. The gauze had been supplemented with some strips of uniform to keep it in place, it looked sturdy enough to hold for a while.

 

Klaus, who had been oddly quiet for the aid, blinked dazedly up at him. “What happened?”

 

Andreas wasn't sure himself but... “The tanks. They short-circuited or... something. Blew us all to hell. Then the ewts...” he glanced out at the battlefield.

 

“Don't be angry,” Klaus said.

 

Heidegger raised his brows, as he turned back to his friend, trying to smother the little bit of panic that welled in him. On a normal day, on a day not filled with carnage, where Klaus wasn't bleeding out on the ground, the guy would never mistake paranoia for anger. “Get your ass up here, Klaus, it's time to move.”

 

“I'm serious,” he continued, blinking drunkenly. “They... we... they didn't do it on purpose. Didn't know.”

 

There was movement through the smoke, and outline that looked like ewt armor. “It isn't the time Klaus.”

 

“War is just like... like this battlefield,” the man continued to slur, despite the very real threat that could easily spot them if it looked this way. “It's clouded, just full of mist. The fog of war, right? Information – war – just... whoosh, changes. What you think you know you don't really know. You know that.”

 

Andreas didn't feel like debating when they were both sitting there, bleeding out. “Point is there are ewts still out there, we need to move.” Andreas turned back to Klaus, hesitating as he looked closely at the already stained bandages around his middle and the dazed look on his face. “Can you stand?”

 

A moment of clarity passed along Klaus's features as his brow furrowed. “I think... think so.” the older man took the proferred hand, and the two of them stumbled to their feet and promptly into the nearest cover they could find.

 

It was only sheer luck that kept them from falling into the clearing where Commander Arnold was forced to his knees before a group of ewts, a group of very angry looking ewts.

 

“Why are you doing this? I brought you the weapons, just like you asked!” Arnold looked up at them with horrified eyes. The look didn't suit the normally collected commander, neither did the dirty smears on his uniform. Andreas tried not to focus so hard on the words, because maybe he could pretend it was all a dream and laugh it off when he woke up.

 

“Destroyed,” one of them answered, his thick Wutain accent almost indecipherable. The voice demanded Andreas back into the present. “No deal.”

 

“Well that – that wasn't our fault! The model-08 just happened to have a, uh, design flaw that's – ow!”

 

The ewt removed the blade from the commander's shoulder, where he had stabbed it. “No deal. You die.”

 

“But – the forces! With the tanks you managed to obliterate them! There's no one left alive! We – we made a deal!” his voice ended in a shout, a shout that sounded like pure terror.

 

“Yes. No ShinRa.” The ewt smiled as the blade disappeared, as Arnold's body fell. His death was almost anti-climactic. After all, it was hard to top battalion destroying explosions.

 

Andreas and Klaus sat there, dizzy from blood loss, as the Wutains walked away from the commander, too stunned to do much else. A trickle of blood burned in Heidegger's eye suddenly, and he remembered he had a head wound.

 

“I told you,” Klaus slurred, just a little, “war is just politics. Money. Embezzlement. Fuck it all.”

 

Andreas was busy wrapping his head, trying to blame the way his hands shook, the way he saw red, on the furiously pounding wound above his eye.

 

Betrayed by the man who they had trusted with all their lives.

 

“Don't fuck it all yet,” Andreas retorted. “We still have to get out of this alive.” He tried to laugh, but the strangled sound only made his head pound with each breath.

 

“Passion and drive won't end the war,” Klaus continued with a bit of bitterness. Andreas didn't want to listen to the same argument they had rehashed in perhaps an infinite number of variations.

 

“And I told you you should have grown a beard. Probably would have shielded you from the blast.” Andreas grumbled.

 

Klaus sighed, leaning a bit too heavily on Andreas, “We'll never know,” he deadpanned. “But... how do we get out of here...?”

 

Andreas struggled to keep them both standing. He refused to look towards the body of the traitor. “To the southwest. There should be a ship... transport maybe... it's docked on an inlet, supply route line.” The details were fuzzy even as he tried to remember them. “If we stick to cover along the undergrowth, we should be able to make it fine.”

 

Klaus smiled hazily – almost drunkenly. “Yes, sir, Heidegger, sir.”

 

Andreas didn't know how he felt about being called sir by his friend – not right now. But that wasn't what he should be worried about. “Hey, Andy, keep an eye out for other survivors. I got your back.” Andreas clapped it gently, a featherlike touch completely unlike the familiar routine they had fallen into.

 

Klaus wobbled on his feet and shook his head. “And I've got yours.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“The tanks were untested... went boom. Shouldn'ta trusted 'em...”

 

“Heard you the first time. Less talking more walking. Do I have to drag you?”

 

“Shoulda trusted my feeling.”

 

“Yes, yes, you were right, we should have listened to you and - Hey! Stop sleeping, wake up!”

 

“Not sleeping. Found a... a guy.”

 

“Well, I'll be damned. Gyaha – ugh... just stay right here and don't pass out. I'll fetch him.”

 

“Yes, sir, Andy, sir. I await orders from your beard.”

 

“Smartass.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**[3.]---**

 

The Enterprise was an impressive ship – impressive and small; a scouting ship. Just the right size for the quick maneuvers that the gaggle of survivors desperately needed. However the men of the Enterprise didn't seem too enthused at the soldiers that stood in front of them – almost terrified. In some ways, that was almost blameless – they all looked like walking dead, shambling from a slaughter. But they should have gotten over that thirty minutes ago.

 

“Don't you see we have wounded men, here!” Heidegger finally shouted. His voice boomed dangerously off the cliff walls, but he ignored it. He did note, with certain satisfaction, that the man before him winced. He couldn't hold it in any more. “I _know_ you have supplies. It's an emergency, we need them.”

 

The men were falling over each other. And Klaus was sweating, breathing raggedly, leaning wearily against a tree. He looked like death.

 

“Under whose authority?” the sailor glanced suspiciously at the huddled men again, and at their low ranking uniforms.

 

“Mine,” Andreas said lowly. “As the highest ranked man of the seventh battalion,” stretching the truth never hurt, “I request emergency aid. Don't you dare just let us die.”

 

The sailor just shook his head fitfully. “I am under orders to only answer to Commander Arnold - ” he continued, without noticing the way that Andreas bristled and bit back his rage. “Besides, we don't have enough equipment to help.”

 

By the greatest force of will Andreas kept from loosing a fist on the man. The sight of Klaus slumping further down the tree might have helped. “Even the most basic supplies. We need help. Now.”

 

The sailor hesitated. Judging by the look on his face they were going to repeat the same round about and pointless conversation they just had.

 

“Sir!”

 

Heidegger turned at the new voice, quickly locating the soldier with an arm hanging uselessly at his side, leaning against the same tree as Klaus. “What is it?” he barked back. Spots were blurring his vision intermittently; there was no way he could make those few steps to the tree.

 

“The lieutenant, sir! He's stopped breathing! If – if we had a phoenix down...”

 

Andreas stood for a moment. A cold, seeping, chill swept through him. “Please,” he felt his voice breaking. “Supplies enough. A phoenix down!”

 

The sailor shrugged, looking to the ground. “I – uh... afraid we don't... don't have them. Not one.”

 

It was the blatant lie that was the last straw. Not when Klaus could be saved, no more of this bullshit. Heidegger snarled and threw himself forward; the man didn't have time to do much more than squeal as he was pinned to the boat. The ship shuddered but once at the assault, but was undamaged; the sailor, however, struggled against the hand on his throat.

 

“Hngg... pu-pu... put me down...!”

 

“Get us a phoenix down. Yesterday!” Heidegger hissed through his teeth. The panic was welling higher inside of him. How many minutes had passed? One? Two? Could Klaus stay alive long enough? “You hear me!”

 

The sailor choked back a noise. “O-okay... I'll get it. Just... hurk – put me down.”

 

Heidegger released him. Some part of him enjoyed the way he fell to the ground and choked for breath before he scrambled into the ship. But a numbness was settling over him.

 

“It's been too long... dissolving...” a voice murmured behind him, quietly – solemnly.

 

Heidegger turned to have one last look. Klaus looked like he was sleeping, even as a green glow encapsulated him. No one to call him Andy, no one at his back... a beard couldn't replace a friend, he thought as he tugged the strands.

 

Then he laughed. If anyone needed a laugh, it was Heidegger – and Klaus. Andreas absently wondered if his wound had re-opened from the warmth that ran down his face.

 

* * *

 

“So now _they're_ SOLDIER? What? Does that make us gnats then? Ain't we soldiers too?”

 

“The way I heard it, they're more like chicks with dicks than anything. Don't look nothing like a man should.”

 

“I bet we can make 'em bend over and - ”

 

“All right! You men there, stop talking like that!”

 

“H-Heidegger, sir! Aren't you supposed to be in the infirmary, sir?”

 

“These men are enhanced. They'll probably break your neck before you can do anything like bending them over, gyahaha!”

 

“I mean... the super people are like... SOLDIER. But we're not Andr- uh, Heidegger, sir.”

 

“They're no more soldier than you are. Just call 'em... supers. Those SOLDIER-guys are just super soldiers, so just call them supers. Gyahaha – hurk.”

 

“Are you _sure_ you should be wandering around here, sir?”

 

“Don't question me. Now get back to work and don't forget what I said.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 **[4.]** \---

Heidegger hadn't been expecting the super soldiers that stepped out of the truck. He thought a super soldier would have been towering, massive hulks of men – tanks made of muscle and terror. Clearly someone decided pretty boys better suited the picture.

 

Never had he seen soldiers more... beautiful. There was no other word for it. Heidegger assessed them as they piled out and took formation, tugging on his beard. Klaus would have gotten that confused look on his face and doubled over in laughter if he saw them. They had been nothing that any of the camp was expecting.

 

There were only ten of them. Military ranks didn't exactly translate, from what he had managed to scrounge from the disorganized reports in Arnold's command tent, they were something like... Firsts, he thought, was the term they used. If the rumors and communications were correct, each man was worth about a battalion. It was... a heady thought to say the least.

 

Heidegger had no idea what to do with them. It was a stroke of luck – or irony – that they had planted themselves in his lap just a week after the Battle of Julu, just as much as the field promotions had been. As much as he would have liked to be forming an offensive strategy, their base camp was under threat. It was the most forward of the ShinRa entrenchments and, unfortunately, only three days march from Julu.

 

Scouts had reported ewts moving along the coastline, moving southward. It was always hard to determine _where_ they were going, but it was a pretty good guess where they planned to go. The monsters were ruthless – they were going to eliminate ShinRa once and for all and their forces were preposterously huge. The tanks at Julu had all but obliterated the ShinRa forces - before an ewt had even been sighted. The Wutain forces, on the other hand, had taken minimal - if any - damage from the war, and all those men who would have fought against equal numbers, now massively outnumbered the scraggle of survivors.

 

They would be overrun quickly, even with all the men they had. Reorganizing the remainders of the battalions into a cohesive force had been like pulling thorns out of a chocobo – not to mention the wounded that were laid up (Heidegger himself should have been in the medical tent, the medic had warned). They would have enough for three half-strength battalions to surrounded and defend the camp, and a handful of regiments to guard the camp proper should the worst come to pass. And, with every new report that came in from the scout, that was looking more and more possible.

 

That left only one logical place to put them...

 

“Sir!” Heidegger zeroed in on the old – no, young – man with flowing silver hair. The other soldiers had been dispatched to settle into camp, leaving this one behind. He was the closest thing to a commanding position for them, Sephiroth should have been his name.

 

“Sephiroth,” Heidegger looked up from the map he had been stewing over. “Your men will guard the camp when the Wutains strike.”

 

Sephiroth glanced down at the map, raking over the mismatched stones and leaves that depicted troop movement. There was a gleam in those strange cat eyes, a gleam that just made his headache worse. It hadn't improved much after his head wound was treated – it just seemed to ache when trouble was ahead.

 

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

 

Heidegger wanted to say no, he really did. But it wouldn't do to destroy the loyalty of a new recruit like that. “Granted.”

 

“Sir,” the super started. “You would be best serve with my platoon in the most forward position.”

 

“The van?” Heidegger resisted the urge to laugh as he shook his head – a wave of dizziness told him that he should sit down soon. “No. You'll defend the camp, soldier. Your men haven't experienced war yet. I don't want fresh and untested men out there. You don't know how the ewt – the Wutains,” he corrected himself, “operate.”

 

“The van,” Sephiroth repeated, almost tasting the word. “I request you put us in the van, sir. You can test us.”

 

“I can't afford risks like that.” It was the youngest and freshest soldiers that were always the stupidest, the most hopeful and naive. “If all of you are really as strong as I've heard, you'll stay and defend this position.”

 

Sephiroth hesitated at the command, but didn't relent. “We SOLDIER have no limits, sir. The enemy will not know how to fight us.”

 

Heidegger looked at the boy. The strategy was a tempting one, but damn risky. It could only work once – when these super soldiers were fresh and no one knew what their capabilities were. But that was just the problem – Heidegger had no idea what they were capable of. Sending them to the van would be tantamount to death. There was no way they could be prepared for that. But, the look in the youth's eyes made him reconsider. There was something hardened about him – like eyes that had seen too much.

 

“Commander, sir!” a messenger reared up to him. “Message from the scouting parties.”

 

“Speak,” Heidegger didn't look away from Sephiroth.

 

“A large portion of the group has broken off and is wrapping around. It's just as you expected, sir. They'll reach us by midday tomorrow.”

 

Heidegger looked at the man and cursed.

 

“Sephiroth,” Heidegger barked. “Put two of your men each in the north, east, and west vans. The rest will guard our flank at camp. Pick the best men for the job, do you understand?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Dismissed.”

 

With that, Sephiroth stepped away and back to the rest of the supers. Tomorrow was going to be a horrible day. Heidegger's head was pounding.

 

 

* * *

 

“Fifty?! We're getting fifty more SOLDIER!!”

 

“Is there something wrong with that?”

 

“I don't know if I can handle fifty more of you, Sephiroth.”

 

“I doubt any of them will be of comparable skill. As you can see, ranks are listed beside each name in the left most column. These are determined by one's level of mako enhancement, and men are proceeded through ranks after rigorous training.”

 

“This ranking system... does it stop at Third Class?”

 

“There is only infrastructure for three classes. But it will likely be expanded as time goes on.”

 

“Noted. Now, let's see here... hmm... how would you say this name...?”

 

“...Angeal?”

 

“Angeal, not Angel? Strange name. Almost as strange as Genesis. Even stranger than Sephiroth.”

 

“...”

 

“Don't get your leather pants in a knot. Parents must get a strange vindictive kick out of naming their children.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Hah. Mine's Andreas.”

 

“'Man'...? Perhaps... you're not too far off in your assumption.”

 

“Are you laughing at me? Gyahahaha. That's the first time I've seen you crack a smile.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**[5.]---**

“You've given the SOLDIER ineffective positions. You will increase your losses and delay the war this way.”

 

Heidegger had gotten quite used to Sephiroth's presence in the camp over the past two weeks. It was almost ironic that they debated so often so soon after Klaus's death. But those debates turned into arguments when the brat turned super decided to go full out suicidal mode – which was every goddamned time. And damn if it wasn't effective, but damned if Heidegger could willingly put the supers in such suicidal positions – especially with the ewts pulling out even newer and stranger weapons. Sometimes Heidegger wondered if there was another traitor in camp...

 

“I'm not putting any of you into the van again until Meyers recovers from that poison.” Heidegger hoped that the casual way he said it would dismiss Sephiroth and end the conversation. Instead of daring to look at him, because that always prolonged their word fights, he returned to the maps and scout reports.

 

Defiantly, the super strode back into his commander's line of vision. “Meyers has fully recovered. Wutai has yet to create something that can destroy us.”

 

Heidegger barely refrained from running a hand down his face. The wound above his eye was mostly healed now, but the flesh was still sensitive to touch; it would be a scar, he was promised, and would remain a permanent reminder of the cost of war and betrayal. “You can't trust that, boy, sooner or later -”

 

“One day they will,” Sephiroth agreed. For that, Heidegger actually turned to face him. “But that day is far from now. Weapons and counter-weapons take time to create; it took decades to create SOLDIER, it will take them at least a year to create something strong enough to take us down.”

 

“A year?” Heidegger puffed a loud laugh. “That's being a little generous don't you think?”

 

Sephiroth gave him that blank look of his. “It may take longer or it may take shorter – they may have a weapon now and we have no idea. Information is never clear when it comes to war.”

 

The words struck a memory in the commander, it almost tasted nostalgic. “Like a fog,” he mumbled, tugging at his beard. “A fog of war.” Then he shook his head, loosing the thoughts. “That's precisely why we need to use your forces carefully – more defensively. The more often SOLDIER appears on point, the more information the Wutains gain, and the closer they get to making anti-SOLDIER weaponry.”

 

“Would you rather invite a greater death toll on the regulars against a theoretical threat on the supers?”

 

Hediegger frowned. The thought _had_ gnawed on him – painfully, achingly, but...

 

Sephiroth continued, heedless of his commander's thoughts. “Regardless of how conservatively you position the SOLDIERs, eventually _something_ will be developed to strike us down. Every weapon has a counter-weapon, just as every move has a counter. It will happen eventually, that we know. Until it appears, SOLDIER should be used most effectively to reduce the number of losses and proceed to end the war as quickly as possible.”

 

Heidegger almost laughed. It was only because the boy had ended his little speech quoting his orders, which were on a fine piece of dispatch paper from headquarters. But everything else made sense, in a clearly laid out fashion that reminded Heidegger of Klaus... Klaus would have also made a fine commander, just like this boy.

 

“There are only ten SOLDIER,” Heidegger said plainly. “Each of you guys is a one man army – you've effectively multiplied our fighting power by ten. But that also makes any loss inflicted that much more devastating. Once we start relying on supers in every battle, the ewts will create weapons to counter you, and our forces will be left open in your absence. None of you will be taking the van unless I tell you otherwise. Is that clear?”

 

Sephiroth tightening his jaw. It was a motion familiar to Heidegger, from both his days as a grunt to his recent foray as an officer – he disagreed, severely. But all he could do was respectfully obey. Or wait and send a communique to the men above him.

 

It was that kind of spineless frustration that led to disloyalty.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Was there something else, First?”

 

Sephiroth stared at him for a moment. The hesitation was clear on his face, but Heidegger had yet to court martial anyone who disagreed with him (so far there had been the medic when he rolled out of bed after his head was bandaged, the lieutenant quartermaster who refused to re-arrange the supply routes, and the corporal who – in private – questioned his decision to march north on a rainy day), and as long as it didn't undermine military order, Heidegger had no problems with it.

 

“I don't believe the command of SOLDIER is best left... in your hands.” Sephiroth stared him dead in the eye, provocation and determination clear in them.

 

Heidegger raised his brows, ignoring the way his freshly healed skin stretched. “Noted,” he said slowly, feeling almost a bit impressed. It was clear that, as long as Sephiroth was in charge of leading the SOLDIER, Heidegger and he would continue to butt heads. The supers were still fresh enough that military ranking systems weren't entirely clear in the camps – did the supers have more power or did the commander of the military?

 

“If that's all, First, go check on Meyers in the medical tent.”

 

“Sir!”

 

The little joke was worth the deadpan look as Sephiroth saluted and left, his steps followed by Heidegger's laughter.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**[6.]---**

Heidegger rubbed his brow. It didn't ease the troubled ache of his scar, now just a few months old, but the action calmed him a little.

 

Today was his first formal day as Head of the Department of Public Safety. The whole situation still seemed a little unreal, even as he stood in the office – _his_ office. He never had an office before, never dreamed of staying in the army long enough to get more than a measly stipend. But, here he was, through a cacophony of fuck ups that led to one field promotion after another until HQ decided to just invite him over with the highest position available. It was almost a joke when he considered the men who had stood beside him and above him for all those years...

 

Even now, while he stood in the nice, air conditioned room, a war was going on in Wutai – a war where men were killing and being killed in his absence. Or, in the case of the men left in charge, making suicidal charges of the like only supers could walk away from. Sephiroth, Heidegger thought with a quick shake to his head, that damn pretty boy better be alive once the war was over.

 

He shook his head, clearing away those thoughts with a tug to his beard. It was quite large now, no longer a scraggle of things, but a full out bush – Klaus would have been proud and disgusted. That look at Sephiroth sometimes got when Heidegger caught him staring at that from time to time. And so Heidegger pondered his beard as he took lavish pathway to the board room. The thoughts helped calm him down.

 

The sight of the president himself, of course did not. He almost lost his smile at the sight of the most powerful people in ShinRa gathered around a table. It must have been the way their eyes focused on him.

 

There was Tuesti, head of Urban Dev, who focused on him with a careful sort of attention that reminded Heidegger of a school teacher. Just left of him at the large table was Dr. Hojo of the Science Department – a man Heidegger knew only through rumors, rumors about how he had been the one to create the supers - and something about his gaze just gave the commander a chill that just crept up his spine. Just across from him was a blonde woman in a red dress, Scarlet, and everything about the way she trussed herself up screamed sex, but everything about her posture told Heidegger she was a dangerous woman in more ways than one. Next to her was an overweight man, balding – Palmer, Heidegger suddenly remembered, who headed the Space Division. And at the head of the table, was President ShinRa himself.

 

“Mr. President,” Heidegger began. He needed to keep from being intimidated. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”

 

“Yes, yes.” The president smiled back with a wave of his hand. “Tell me about the situation in Wutai, Heidegger.”

 

“Of course!” Heidegger chuckled softly as the projector whirled on. Maybe it was just nerves, but being subtly dismissed by the most powerful man in the world really made the man just want to laugh.

 

“Now,” Heidegger began, pulling up a map, as he had planned. “The newest squads of SOLDIER attached to each forward post. Since their attachment, we haven't lost a single fortification in months. Losses are down 60%! Gyahaha.”

 

And so it went for perhaps an hour, talking about the troops and the victories they had secured in the past month and hints at some future strategies he had planned. He was about to finish up when a voice cut him off.

 

“Do you intend to assume leadership of SOLDIER?” Tuesti said carefully. “You haven't mentioned them in your future plans.”

 

“Yes,” Hojo quickly agreed, as if he had been waiting for someone to bring up the subject. “Haven't you left Sephiroth in command in Wutai?”

 

Heidegger should have been expecting this line of questioning, but had hoped no one was going to ask. It wasn't that he didn't have an answer, but he didn't want to think about it.

 

“Well,” he said slowly. “At the moment they are acting under Sephiroth's command. They have been bringing up the rear to stave off ambush attacks.”

 

Scarlet tsk'd and sneered. Heidegger swiveled his gaze to her, daring her to say something to follow up her rudeness, but she merely flipped the graceful swoop of her hair and glared.

 

“Perhaps...” Hojo distracted him. “You would find my SOLDIER more useful than the unenhanced men you've been sending out ahead of them.”

 

Heidegger frowned at the accusation, and could almost hear Sephiroth talking in his ear about offensive strategies through Hojo's voice. “I'm afraid I have to disagree. The Wutains are tricky, and we've lost quite a few forces to their surprise attacks; we need to have them bringing up the rear. The SOLDIER have been indispensable in reconnaissance and defense operations.

 

“However,” Heidegger continued quickly when he noticed the growing sneer on Hojo's face, “SOLDIER are a unique force. They require a different sort of handling than standard military personnel. While I can oversee troop movements, I was considering establishing a leadership position to oversee SOLDIER deployment and organization.”

 

“That has been mentioned before,” The president nodded slowly. He and Scarlet seemed to share a knowing glance and Heidegger wondered what it could mean. “I can even think of the perfect man for the job.”

 

“Gyahahaha. When does he start, sir?” Heidegger felt hopeful.

 

“Give it a week, Heidegger,” the president chuckled in response.

 

In response, and the commander suddenly felt hopeful – hopeful that the man in charge of SOLDIER would be easier to work with than Sephiroth.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“The men aren't taking it well.”

 

“The whole being forced to hunt down their old comrades bit? Haha! I bet they aren't. Now, Lazard, let's say if we sent some infantry instead...”

 

“And hope that sheer numbers will wear them down? Heidegger, you know as well as I that the only way to fight a SOLDIER is with a SOLDIER.”

 

“I know that. But as soon as they start to fight old comrades, the will start to question us. And once they do, what's to stop the whole lot of them from deserting? Loyalty is first and foremost. Hewley already disappeared.”

 

“Can you prove to them that ShinRa – that SOLDIER – is where they belong?”

 

“That... hmm... as long as they have someone they trust to lead, I think the men belong anywhere. It's having faith in their leader that keeps them here. Can you imagine if I had to handle them, they'd all jump ship faster than I can order them. Gyahahaha.”

 

“I don't think that's true. They have Sephiroth to lead them on the battlefield, you would just hand out the missions.”

 

“And what about Sephiroth? What do you think would happen to the program if he disappeared?”

 

“I... I don't think he will. The company has too much power over him.”

 

“Gyahahaha. ShinRa isn't all-powerful, it's run by everyday whack-jobs like you and me. Sephiroth could decide he doesn't like us anymore and leave. I doubt it'd happen, but it could. Without him, the SOLDIER unit would fall apart, PR would be scrambling to clean up the mess, and the world would be filled with SOLDIER deserters. As long as we prove we have Sephiroth – and SOLDIERs – best interest at heart, they'll continue to remain loyal.”

 

“But questioning loyalty is human nature, isn't it? What if he was more loyal to his comrades than to you?”

 

“Lazard, I know for a fact that Sephiroth gives more damns about the well-being of his men than he does about mine. He and they can question all they like, and we'll give them answers as best we can. Hiding the truth only breeds distrust.”

 

“I see...”

 

“Don't look so glum, boy! Here, why don't you go down to that restaurant on sector seven you like so much, and then take a good long sleep. No use worrying about things when you should be worrying about your health, gyahahaha.”

 

“Heh, thanks Heidegger. I fear I might need more than a good night's sleep, however. Perhaps a vacation...”

 

“Gyahaha! That's the spirit.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**[7.]---**

Heidegger stooped over the desk. The monitors of the wall blared silently at him, red alerts demanding his attention. But he couldn't look away from the report laid out on the desk.

 

Lazard had deserted.

 

It was just a few days ago that they had been discussing what to do about the deserted SOLDIER. Despite his quiet demeanor, the man had been nothing short of astounding at organizing the program; it had flourished under Lazard's direction. The military and SOLDIER worked better now than they ever had. And now...

 

Heidegger slammed his fist on the desk, struggling to contain his anger. Where had he gone wrong? Did all of their most powerful have no loyalty to the company? Hadn't they just won a war together? Was it... was it because he hadn't paid enough attention to Lazard's concerns?

 

Loyalty in the company was splintering faster than they had time to repair it. Heidegger didn't even have to go down to the SOLDIER floor to see their morale. It was enough that friends had to turn against friends in the chaos of the desertion, but with this... it was a low blow. How long could ShinRa keep up the program without them? But the question was moot, so long as Sephiroth stayed...

 

Soothing the ache in his old wound, Heidegger rubbed at his brow. Sephiroth had proved to be an effective commander, twice as much when he had the support of Lazard and the other generals. But there was no telling how he would act with all of those supports taken away. Would he rush headlong into battle, heedless of his own life as he had always been? Or did even _he_ question his loyalty?

 

And it _seemed_ like just yesterday that Veld had been relieved of his duties. The order had come down, with that flimsy piece of paper, that Heidegger was to take over SOLDIER, just as he had with Turk. The growing umbrella of sub-departments under the Department of Public Safety was practically dizzying.

 

But things like that could be worried about later, because right now, Heidegger had an important meeting to attend to. Yes, the president wanted to see him – immediately, the letter had said. He had probably taken long enough processing the whole affair to make the president irritated.

 

The walk to the president's office was familiar now. So was the familiar presence of redundant security. Seated behind his expansive desk was the president and, surprisingly, standing in the center of the room was none other than Scarlet.

 

Despite his best efforts, he couldn't keep his displeasure at her presence from rising like bile. The woman was more than a small nuisance on her best days; he was not in the mood for her shenanigans.

 

“Mr. President. You wanted to see me, sir?” Heidegger stood at attention and kept his gaze averted from the woman standing just inches away from him.

 

“Heidegger,” the president said slowly, interlacing his large fingers in a practiced show of control. “You need to be informed of a little something.”

 

Heidegger felt himself tense. There was nothing _little_ about something that required face-to-face communication with the president himself; anything that wasn't above top secret levels could be communicated through Turks. “I hope it's worth the walk up here, sir.” he merely replied with a smile.

 

Scarlet tossed her hair with that haughty look of hers. “I'm sure you'll find that it is. In fact, it regards your newest addition of troops.”

 

SOLDIER? Frowning, the commander glanced at Scarlet suspiciously. Why would Scarlet, of all people, have her hands in the supers' cookie jar? Most of her weapons went directly to infantry support and outfitting, she rarely designed weapons that supers preferred. The whole thing was making him wary.

 

“Heidegger,” the president said with a low note, slow and with a hint of threat. “We have a measure of... containment to handle SOLDIERs.”

 

“Restrictors,” Scarlet added before Heidegger could process the words. “We _all_ know how unstable some of the men have gotten. Before the program could be implemented, we needed a safeguard to keep them in line.”

 

Now _this_ was surprising. Surprising, only in the sense that Heidegger hadn't heard a word of it for all the years he had managed the military. He had always wondered if there was one... however...

 

Why hadn't these restrictors been used? Heidegger tugged at his beard, trying to stave the anger inside of him. Chasing after deserters had destroyed a lot of good men – either leading them into death, adding to the list of MIAs, or sapping out their loyalty. Morale was devastated, and no amount of promotions or wealth could win it back now – only time, and even then those wounds may not heal.

 

“Why are you telling me this now?” Heidegger did his best to cap his anger, his words losing the jovial edge they usually carried.

 

“The Deepground Restrictors will now fall under your authority to use.” The president continued. “Granted that you have my authority before dispatching them.”

 

Heidegger nodded slowly, wondering absently if Lazard had heard this same speech before. “And why is Scarlet here?”

 

Scarlet huffed, as if he had said something inordinately rude. “I'm outfitting them with new weapons fit to take down any SOLDIER they come across.” There was something feral in the way she smiled, something that would give Heidegger chills if he thought about it too much.

 

“Right.” Heidegger wanted to move away from Scarlet's involvement completely. “Should we dispatch them after the deserters?”

 

The president waved his hand, as if to clear the air of a bad idea. “Deepground is our trump card. Don't waste it.”

 

“Trump card...” Heidegger repeated the words to himself, tasting their meaning. ShinRa had an entire anti-SOLDIER force, brimming with new technology that Heidegger had never even seen. If the program knew that the president could dispose of them whenever he wanted, what little remained of their morale would plummet; no longer would they be the loyal and honorable force that had been carefully sculpted by the three generals, but men worked day to day with no passion.

 

To add onto that, if these Restrictors came out into the world, anti-SOLDIER technology would grow and flourish and – as all technology did – rapidly evolve. There was no telling what war would look like once Deepground was unleashed on the world. The thought was enough to bring back his headache.

 

“Well, if this is our trump card, I guess these restrictors can take out Sephiroth, eh? Gyahahaha.” Heidegger had been trying not to think about it, about how easily the silver general outclassed even Hewley and Rhapsodos. But with three fourths of the men leading SOLDIER deserting, it was something that was starting to weight on his mind.

 

Scarlet frowned, a distinct accent of worry along her features, before the expression was wiped into her usual confident smirk. “Of course!” she laughed, “Why else would we have them if they couldn't?”

 

Heidegger found himself smirking at the irony of it. An anti-SOLDIER force that would have a slim to none hope of taking down the program's poster boy. It was like a bad joke.

 

“So...” Heidegger stroked his beard casually, locking eyes with Scarlet. “Was this program created to keep our finest general from deserting?”

 

“It's a safeguard against _all_ SOLDIER,” the blonde flipped her hair. “We'll have more than him to handle if he leaves – it will be a PR nightmare.”

 

“ _If_ he leaves,” the president said slowly, glaring at Heidegger. The implication was clear there: keep him from deserting at all costs. “I trust that you'll make the best use of your judgment in deploying the Restrictors.”

 

“Of course! Anyone else who deserts won't know what caught them! Gyahahaha!” Heidegger laughed, knowing that if Sephiroth left, the little world was going to change drastically. “And we'll make sure they're too happy here to even think about deserting.”

 

“Then keep it that way,” the president said with an answering smirk, one that promised violence if it was disobeyed.

 

Scarlet laughed at the words, that ear-ringing laugh that attracted lesser men in droves. Heidegger laughed too. If he didn't laugh, he just might lash out at the president's fancy desk.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You still think it's a mistake, Scarlet?”

 

“Of course it is. Heidegger doesn't know how to use any weapon he's given. With our luck they'll be another mass desertion and the Restrictors won't be deployed. I don't see why you and I can't have full authorization over them.”

 

“Sometimes it's a wonder a woman made it this far in the company.”

 

“Mr. President... Heidegger doesn't even know how to use the Turks properly, how can you expect him to use the Restrictors? He won't even think of it when the time comes.”

 

“That may be true. But, Scarlet, military matters are not your priority. Keep making weapons for Deepground. Whether or not Heidegger deploys any of them will matter only when the time comes.”

 

“Hmph.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**[8.]---**

Heidegger laughed. He laughed until he couldn't breathe, until his sides ached and burned, and then he laughed some more. He laughed because it was ridiculous, because it was horrifying, but mostly because he would never forgive himself if he lost his temper right now.

 

Sephiroth was dead.

 

Heidegger had sent him to Nibelheim, thinking it would be a simple mission. They had word that the deserters had been spotted in the area and, knowing Sephiroth, Heidegger knew that withholding any information on his men was a good way to encourage their disloyalty. The main mission was to investigate the reactor and the monsters that were there, as long as mission parameters were completed and all of the men got back safely, Heidegger didn't care what Sephiroth did in his free time.

 

It hadn't been a decision he made on a whim. Sephiroth had been getting restless. With the losses accrued, he had been helping manage SOLDIER mission distribution, protection of the president, and overall playing the part of ShinRa HQ's glorified bodyguard.

 

So Heidegger had sent him on a mission. He added enough support so that, should anything go wrong, they could make it back safely. Thus a Turk went to investigate the sighting of Genesis clones, a few infantry to manage crowd control if necessary, and the remaining SOLDIER First to act as back-up. Everything had been considered when handing this mission to Sephiroth, even Deepground.

 

But... this. Sephiroth losing his mind? Going crazy and slaughtering an entire town before being killing himself? This had to be a joke, no way it was real.

 

“Sir?” Tseng stood unmoving before him, face as impassive as when he had given his report on the mission. It was his quiet way of asking for orders.

 

Heidegger shook his head, finally catching his breath enough to talk. “Use the Turks to clean up the mess. Silence the townsfolk, too, as long as you use reasonable means.”

 

The way Tseng nodded told Heidegger that the Turk remembered the firebombings of Kalm just as vividly as he did. The survivors hadn't had a chance.

 

“What about Hojo, sir?”

 

As much as Heidegger hated to say it, there was no getting out of informing Hojo. The man _had_ developed SOLDIER after all. If Sephiroth's breakdown was the result of, well, something _wrong_ with them, he should be the first one notified. However, his way of silencing survivors made the military leader's stomach turn.

 

“The Turks' primary task is to cover up this incident, unless the president deems otherwise. Aside from that, you are under Hojo's authority.” The words didn't make Tseng look any less green, but they didn't have much choice. “Follow me, Senk, it's time to inform the president. I can't wait to see his expression, gyahaha.”

 

Tseng silently fell in step behind him as they exited the office.

 

Heidegger didn't have time to dwell on this loss. He had to make a plan. The men, SOLDIER, the world, had lost another idol today. Morale was going to be buried deeper than the pipes of a mako reactor – he was going to have to forcibly dig it out piece by piece. He stroked his beard, absently as he walked. Where would they even start?

 

 

* * *

 

 

“So, how do you say your name?”

 

“... Tseng.”

 

“Right, right... Song.”

 

“... yes.”

 

“Gyahaha. I said it wrong, didn't I?”

 

“... Sir, if I offend you I will call for Veld.”

 

“Look here, Soom. You're a Turk before you're anything else, even Wutain. And you're a good Turk, even I know that. There's a reason Veld was training you to take his place, and I've seen your reports. Whatever personal issues I have don't come into play with you.”

 

“Thank you, sir.”

 

“Well, now that we've bonded give me your report. Gyahaha.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**[9.]---**

Heidegger stared at the airship on the military air strip, on _his_ airstrip. It wasn't like he actually wanted the thing anywhere near the armament hanger, but, with the re-structuring of the Space Program, Heidegger had found himself the sole commander of the air fleet. Being that they were so close to launch, the president deemed that the military could make more use out of the Highwind than those at the ShinRa No. 26.

 

While that wasn't untrue, it still irritated Heidegger. The Department of Public Safety seemed to be growing an even rate of one sub-department a year, sometimes two. First the Turks, then SOLDIER, and now this.

 

There was enough to deal with in the world – the Genesis clones, AVALANCHE, deserters, and disquiet in Deepground. The _last_ thing he wanted to deal with was a bunch of flight jockeys on the fastest airship in the world. Their egos would drown him.

 

The commander bit back his sigh as he stepped onto the ship.

 

“Welcome aboard the Highwind, sir,” a sailor, presumably the captain given his stripes, greeted him with a grunt. The words sounded anything by welcoming, but Heidegger ignored them – for now.

 

“I'm here for a preliminary inspection of the ship.” Heidegger caught the edge of annoyance in the sailor's frown and felt a laugh bubble up in him. There would going to be multiple inspections of the Highwind, his was only the front of the bureaucratic line – the ship would probably be grounded for two years or more; the fools should have been happy Heidegger got to them before Scarlet did. “Take me to the cargo hold.”

 

The Highwind had a certain feel about it: dirty, cramped, and full of suspicious crewmen. But the cargo hold was nicely laid out. If there were ever a need for mass deployment of troops and supplies, it would be immensely useful, especially considering the maneuvering capabilities it boasted. As much as he just wanted to send it back wherever it had come from, or even better to the scrap heap, he didn't want to hear the screeching Scarlet would give him if he did anything like that – the woman was possessive when it came to anything she could attach a weapon to.

 

Heidegger assessed the decks, the meeting rooms, the bunks, and finally the bridge. It was a suitable ship. Not exactly the best fit for the president's personal car, but its speed trumped any of the aesthetics. Things like repainting and redressing could come later, when the world didn't seem to be crumbling around ShinRa. Besides, it wasn't in the budget.

 

Finishing his inspection, the commander took one last sweep around the catwalks. And he heard the tell-tale whispers of dissent.

 

“Can't believe they took her from the captain,” a crew member said as he cast an angry glance up at Heidegger.

 

“ShinRa's cruel,” another shook his head. “Wish we were all still at the rocket. Ain't no place being on the Highwind without the captain.”

 

Heidegger frowned as he neared the whispering duo.

 

The whole crew needed to go. They were dissatisfied with ShinRa, and loyal to a man that Heidegger didn't have authority over. There was no telling what confusion might arise.

 

At the same time... the Highwind was a specialized airship, the fastest in the world, and its creator boaster no other like it. Who was to say the military could find and train suitable replacements to man the ship without sending it careening into the ground? What an annoying conundrum.

 

The first crewmate, nearest to Heidegger, opened his mouth again. “We should just take her back to the captain.”

 

Heidegger stopped abruptly, startling the man who was all but next to him now. “What did you just say, sailor?”

 

“Ah! H-Heidegger, sir!” the crewman awkwardly, and sloppily, saluted. “I-I just - !”

 

“You were thinking about stealing ShinRa property?” Heidegger didn't hide the accusation and threat from his voice.

 

“N-no, sir. Yes, sir. I mean - ”

 

Heidegger's fist abruptly cut off whatever excuse the sailor would have given as it collided with the sheet metal of the inner hull. The punch hadn't been aimed at the boy's head, but it made him shut up and wide eyed just as the commander had hoped. “You'd best not think about that again, eh? Gyahaha. Now, as you were.”

 

The rest of the trip was uneventful, save the way his guide had paled whenever he made eye contact with Heidegger. Figures. Heidegger didn't want to deal with _another_ bunch of mutineers. The Highwind was shaping up to be more trouble than it was worth.

 

Just as he hopped off the rope ladder, the on-duty messenger saluted him. “Sir!”

 

“At ease,” Heidegger almost laughed the words. Whenever the messenger found him outside his office, it was always an emergency. Great. Exactly what he needed. “What news?”

 

“Sir! I'm to inform you of a code white in sector MC-T, sir!”

 

 _Shit_. Heidegger barely managed to keep from cursing aloud – he didn't need to air this kind of situation in the presence of people whose trust he had yet to earn. AVALANCHE had been spotted at the Mount Corel reactor. He would have to see what kind of intel the Turks had gathered on this before he sent anyone out.

 

“Good. On me, soldier.” Heidegger took a step forward as the messenger filed in beside him, before he turned to face his guide. “Oh, and captain, you had best teach your crew some discipline before I come back or I'll do it for you. Gyahahaha.”

 

With that, the commander left the airstrip, hoping that the Mount Corel reactor was going to be standing at the end of the day.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“There is an increased demand in Wall Market for the modified drugs that Hojo has shipped to Don Corneo.”

 

“And...? What does he want this time?”

 

“... he wants to meet with Scarlet in person.”

 

“Ha! Maybe I should arrange that just to see her face! Gyahahaha!”

 

“That doesn't seem like a wise decision...”

 

“I know, Swoon. Even if Scarlet did kill him, someone else just as irritating would take his place.”

 

“May I speak freely, sir?”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

“You day dream too much.”

 

“Gyahaha. You got me there.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**[10.]---**

“Furthermore, Tuesti has completed an animatronic robot he calls Cait Sith. It will be useful to use in intelligence gathering operations.”

 

Heidegger stopped pacing and as Tseng finally began to get to the point. For the better part of their meeting, the man had been carefully avoiding the topic. The Turks liked to give their reports differently – Veld in chronological order, that annoying thing called Reno liked to give him the walk around as if to test is intelligence, and Tseng always left the most important news for last. And... as for Veld... It wasn't that Heidegger hated Tseng, just that he was certain Veld was on base and due to give him a report.

 

“What else?” he grunted. This past week, he had heard snippets of the news, but he hadn't wanted to believe it.

 

Tseng blinked impassively. “AVALANCHE destroyed the Mt. Corel reactor. And, as per Scarlet's orders, the nearby town of Corel was destroyed.”

 

Heidegger let out a deep breath, willing the frustration away as he reached up to tug his beard. His assumptions had been right, it _had_ been Scarlet behind the burning. The reports he had received from his commanders were heavily edited, clearly to keep her from being blamed. It was moments like these, when the full truth came out, that he was thankful he had control of the Turks.

 

But Tseng was still eying him in that way that told Heidegger he had more to say. That didn't bode well.

 

“What else?”

 

“Veld went missing shortly before the reactor exploded. He was last seen chasing after the leader of AVALANCHE.” Tseng continued. Meaning he had disobeyed orders when priority had been evacuation, and not capture of the enemy – orders and consequences were much stricter in Turks than any other branch of the armed forces. “I already reported this to the president. We have been issued a kill on sight order, sir.”

 

Heidegger couldn't stifle the sharp breath he took, and neither could it quell the ache inside of him. _Another_ betrayal. There were no second chances, not for a Turk. It wasn't going to be like Hewley and Rhapsodos, SOLDIER who had been given second chances by Lazard; once a Turk disobeyed too many times, they were a traitor. For a Turk that could only end in death.

 

Heidegger rubbed at his scar, trying to forget that it ached. “Looks like that list is getting long, eh? Gyahahah. We'll have to keep our eyes open for new recruits or else we won't last long, will we Tseng? Now... this means you, Tseng, will have full command of the Turks. Is that clear?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Heidegger rolled back his shoulders. “How is the rest of the team taking it?” They couldn't have been taking it well – the Turks were like family, he had learned these past few years, tighter knit than even the SOLDIER had been.

 

“They will not betray ShinRa,” Tseng said it without hesitation.

 

Heidegger knew that was true enough. Whatever their personal feelings were about Veld's disappearance, their loyalty wasn't in question. The Turks had carved out a home in ShinRa – but once that home was gone, all bets were off.

 

“Gyahaha. Let's keep it that way.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**[11.]---**

This was it, one of ShinRa's biggest lies was about to come crawling out of the wood with a vengeance. Once word spread, there would be no containing the rumors. SOLDIER First, Zack Fair, was alive. And escaped.

 

So he had mobilized infantry, the mechanized support battalions, and the Turks. Even SOLDIER, at the president's urging.

 

Heidegger turned and looked out the small window of his office. But all he could see was the familiar smog of Midgar; there was no telling where Fair had disappeared to in the deserts beyond the city.

 

Heidegger couldn't help but frown as he tugged his beard. Klaus had been right, painfully so. Passion was but a piece of the puzzle, all the wars and conflicts were born from politics. ShinRa carefully manipulated half-truths and information to inspire passion and loyalty, at the same time alienating and destroying any who knew too much.

 

Heidegger had lived it, back in the war, and had lived to see through it. But the lesson hadn't stuck, he had been blind to the quiet planning and machinations that evolved around him. And now he was watching tragedy unfold.

 

Reports were coming in, steadily from the Turks. Two battalions were already down, the machine support units were obliterated, and SOLDIERs had yet to make contact with the target.

 

But how much of that information was accurate? In the time it took for him to receive that information and translate it into a new strategy for the men on the front lines, who knew what had changed? Another painful memory, of Klaus bleeding out in Julu surfaced – he had called it the fog of war.

 

Klaus... Heidegger rubbed at his scar. Would Klaus have been able to stave off all the betrayals and tragedy as Heidegger had failed to? Certainly he would have seen the signs for some of them when Heidegger had been deaf and dumb.

 

“Sir!” a subcommander barked through the radio static. “Targets sighted headed north to Midgar. Moving to intercept.”

 

Heidegger stared out the window, expression grim. Given his estimates, the SOLDIER had to fall soon – eventually the numbers would overwhelm Fair. As much as he tried to beat the thought away, part of him hoped the young SOLDIER would survive.

 

If the boy survived, passion might be stronger than the deceitful web of politics that defined war. But if he didn't...

 

“Target engaged!”

 

“Requesting reinforcements!” A new voice said. The subcommander must have fallen.

 

“Target is slowing! Fourth squad move in!” Another new voice. The other guy hadn't lasted long.

 

Heidegger closed his eyes, imagining the carnage of the battlefield. Fourth squad was the last of the reserves he had planned – there would be guns firing, and the slash of the super's obscene weapon cutting through their flesh like paper.

 

“Target eliminated.” Came a voice, broken and panting. “Returning to base.”

 

Heidegger let out a breath and reached for the radio. “What are the losses soldier?”

 

“Sir! There... there are three survivors. Sir!”

 

Heidegger shook his head. Three. _Three_! Fair had been so close, so goddamned close. Heidegger found himself laughing as a familiar voice whispered in his head, the snippet of a conversation he had almost forgotten.

 

' _Sometimes all the passion in the world can't stop the hand of fate._ ' In the distance, there was a thunderclap. Klaus had been right after all.

 

“Return to base, soldier.”

 

“Sir!”

 

Heidegger's laughter was accompanied only by the sound of radio static. If anyone needed a good laugh right now it was him – him and Fair.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Maybe you even think of Heidegger a little differently now? Maybe? Haha, maybe not. 
> 
> Also, Feel free to call me out on anything I messed up on! I'm open to critique. And to any other opinions you might have!
> 
> Beta(s): [Silverleaf14](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/5138395/) and [tyrannosaurus_rose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tyrannosaurus_rose/pseuds/tyrannosaurus_rose)
> 
> Below is my head-canoning for names I used in-fic. Check it out if you're interested.
> 
>  **Andreas Heidegger**  
>  _Andreas:_ a popular boy's name in 1960's Germany, which seemed to fit because I initially headcanoned Heidegger in his 40s-50s in-game. (considering ff7 occurs in 0005, I don't think that's too far off the mark)  
>  _Heidegger:_ a German surname that literally means 'from Heidegg.' However, it is speculated that Heidegger's name proper originates from the philosopher Martin Heidegger. Martin's philosophies, sadly, didn't fit with what I wanted in the story (but are ironic to FFVII verse), so I based some of Heidegger's ideas off of Antione-Henri, Baron Jomini.  
>  Additionally: much of Heidegger's design was purportedly inspired by Brian Blessed: a man, who though I did not know much about before now, has the most amazing and powerful voice I have ever heard. Srsly, that laugh is beautiful. Anyone who laughs like that can't be wholly evil.
> 
>  **Klaus Bauer**  
>  _Klaus:_ Based loosely on Carl von Clausewitz. Ironically enough, Jomini considered Clausewitz his rival; doubly ironic Clausewitz died 30 some years before Jomini did, much to the Frenchmen's pleasure (srsly, my new philosopher OTP guys, you don't even know)  
>  _Bauer:_ is a surname in German, lit. 'Farmer.' It was supposed to play a more important role in the story (Klaus and Andy meeting), but ended up not making the cut because it was too boring (farming? Boring? Who knew)
> 
>  **Benet Arnold**  
>  A stupid derivation of Benedict Arnold. Benedict means 'blessed' and happens to be Benet in Catalan (or so wikipedia tells me) and so it happened. It wasn't like he was actually addressed by his full name, but it's still there.  
> I couldn't find exact details on a traitor befitting Arnold's crimes, so I just arbitrarily picked the first one who came to mind.
> 
>  **Julu**  
>  Via Battle of Julu, taken from the Art of War  
> It really has no relevance to the story, other than it spawned one of my favorite idioms ever that, ironically, also has no relevance to the story (“tip the kettles and burn the boats/破釜沉舟” man, never get enough of that).
> 
>  **Ewt**  
>  Derived from 'Wutai'  
> For those of you who don't know, I'm super hardcore Mandarin-Chinese up in Wutai culture and pronunciation. With this in mind, I created this term. So, basically, the the 'Wu' sound is most easily pronounced 'eww' (for a Westerner). That, and given the history of wonderful slanders soldiers tend to give their enemies, I felt like it would be an appropriate way to demonize them.  
> On an unrelated note, neither me nor my Japanese-learned friend could figure out why the 'Wu' in Wutai is pronounced 'oo' in canon, when clearly no Japanese sounds for five (or even bastardized Chinese sounds) sound anything like that (the closest we could come up with is related to DaChao's Japanese pronunciation).
> 
>  **Super(s)**  
>  I still think that naming super soldiers SOLDIER is kind of a dick move to everyone else in the universe - especially the guys who were already soldiers.  
> Super humans = supers. Made sense. I almost called them greeners because of their eyes, but I decided supers worked better for the story.


End file.
